Arkship Conquest

by Niel Bushnell

  Otto laughed. ‘Of course! I’m not a baby. We learn about the Al-cube-ray drive at school.’

  ‘Alcubierre,’ Gofal corrected.

  Otto continued, oblivious. ‘It’s faster than any other engine. It can take an arkship from here to the Jovian Ruins in minutes!’

  ‘No, that’s not quite right, Otto. A Cube drive is fast, but it takes a lot of energy to move a ship into Cube transit, and keeping the space-time bubble stable is very hard. A journey of the distance you suggest is usually broken down into many smaller, more manageable transits, and would take a few hours to navigate and complete successfully.’

  ‘But that’s still fast!’

  ‘Yes, very fast,’ Gofal agreed.

  ‘Is that why you haven’t gone further?’

  ‘I’ve never considered leaving the Cluster,’ Gofal confessed.

  ‘What’s after the Cluster?’

  ‘The stars . . . the rest of the galaxy.’

  ‘And planets?’ Otto asked, grinning with excitement.

  ‘Yes, there are many planets around other stars.’

  ‘We could go there,’ Otto suggested. ‘We could go to where the planets aren’t broken.’

  ‘That would be difficult.’

  ‘Because of the Cube drive?’

  ‘That, and the Fracture wave is still travelling away from the Cluster.’

  Otto nodded, as if he was agreeing, but Gofal saw the boy’s puzzled expression.

  ‘You know about the Fracture?’

  Otto laughed. ‘Even little kids know about the Fracture. That’s what broke the sun and the planets.’

  ‘Yes, precisely. Well, that shockwave is still expanding. It’s moving away from us in all directions, out beyond the Cluster, a slowly moving wall of energy that is too volatile to cross. That’s why we live here, in the Cluster, on our arkships.’

  Otto looked down, playing with the skin of water that spotted the wall. His little fingers traced lines over the polished stone, creating swirls of primitive artwork. ‘It’s sad, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sad?’

  ‘Yeah, sad.’

  ‘What is?’

  Otto shrugged, distracted. Then, a new idea consumed him. ‘How high can you jump? I can jump . . .’ He stood on the wall and pushed himself off, landing on the concourse a short distance away. ‘This high!’

  ‘That’s quite high,’ Gofal agreed.

  ‘I think I might like to travel one day, outside. But not today. See you tomorrow?’ Otto shouted, already running away.

  Gofal watched him disappear around the corner, feeling perturbed by the boy’s observation. Was it sad to live like this? Humans had evolved to live on planets, but now they lived here, in the artificial isolation of arkships. Was there something inherently wrong with that? Gofal wondered. It was a necessity after all. If they hadn’t learned to survive in space, then the human race would have died out two hundred years ago. Gofal understood emotions well, it was part of his core social programming, and he could experience sadness, if he wanted to, but he had never considered it in this way before. He had looked for it in literature, in theatre and art, but he had never thought of it as part of the very essence of their existence since the Fracture, a background noise of melancholy that would never go away.

  The boy was gone, but Gofal still stared at the spot where he had last seen him, his attention fixed on that empty space as he tried to contemplate the size of the concept Otto had just described.

  SANCTUARY

  The chapel was empty, as it often was at this time of night, a silent sanctuary for the occasional visitor. Relieved, Prince Halstead entered, pulling the door shut after him. He stood there, taking in the emptiness, the coolness of the air, the ambient light that softened the details into vague suggestions of pews and altar. He bowed his head reverently, then took a step into the space. His booted feet echoed around the high ceiling, each step like the toll of an ancient clock counting down to his arrival at the front of the chapel. Halstead looked up to the glowing shape of the Infinite, feeling the reassuring warmth of belief deep within him. It hadn’t always been this way, but in recent months his renewed faith had held him back from the depths of despair, drawing him upwards, back towards . . . towards what? He wasn’t happy, he conceded, it was too soon to expect that. But perhaps he had found a tolerance for life now, just enough for him to get through the day.

  Enough was a feast. The old saying came to mind, something from his childhood, but he couldn’t place its origin. Yes, enough was a feast, Halstead decided. He had just enough, and he was grateful for that.

  ‘Am I interrupting?’

  Halstead jumped at the sound of the voice, then, as the visitor stepped into the light, his tension eased. ‘Never,’ he said with a warm smile. The scars of battle had healed, his artificial lung was working well, but something about the expression brought discomfort to Halstead’s face, and he retreated into a soft frown.

  ‘I was about to have a drink,’ Reader Aditsan said. ‘Care to join me?’

  Halstead shook his head. ‘No, it’s late, I won’t keep you.’

  Aditsan chuckled. ‘I’m hardly drowning in social engagements.’

  ‘Another night,’ Halstead promised, turning back to gaze at the glowing Infinite.

  The Reader nodded as he rested on the front pew. ‘Something on your mind?’

  ‘No, just passing.’

  ‘Liar.’

  Halstead stared into the old man’s face. His veined eyes glistened with mischief as he stroked his wiry beard. He was like no Reader Halstead had met before, happy to speak his mind, lacking the proper respect and formality he should give to his prince, yet always convivial and warm. Halstead laughed, joining him on the seat. He couldn’t help but like him.

  ‘I don’t know . . . I feel . . .’ Halstead struggled for the words.

  ‘Alone?’ Aditsan suggested.

  Halstead sighed, thinking. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘And so you should.’

  ‘Is this meant to cheer me up?’

  ‘Cheer you up? There are dark rooms with dancers for that. You’ve come to the wrong place for jollity. But you are alone. You have pushed everyone away from you, so that you can become the prince, haven’t you? All the old friendships of youth are no more. You are no longer Wynn, the prince-in-waiting. You are the ruler now, Prince Halstead Aldwyn Kenric.’

  ‘I had no choice,’ Halstead replied, feeling the old anger wake from its slumber.

  ‘No, you had no choice. You were born to rule, the reluctant leader, I know. But that doesn’t mean you have to give everything else up, does it?’

  Halstead stood. ‘You’re right, Reader; I came to the wrong place.’

  ‘Sit down, boy. You’re not too proud to listen, are you?’

  The prince faltered, then he returned to the seat.

  Reader Aditsan lowered his voice. ‘This is about her, isn’t it?’

  ‘I miss her. I miss Bara. It’s been seven . . . eight months. I thought it’d get easier, but it’s just the same. I pretend it’s all okay, but it’s not, Aditsan, it’s not.’

  ‘The one-legged man will keep falling over until he picks up his cane.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘That you can’t recover alone. You need help. You need support. I can help you, but you won’t find all your answers in here.’ Aditsan gestured towards the glowing Infinite hanging over them. ‘You need friends, Wynn.’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘Go find a bar,’ Aditsan said wearily.

  ‘But they spoke to me. The Infinite Gods spoke to me, they were inside my head. They helped me save Bara. Why? Aren’t we supposed to be together? Isn’t it what they want? What do they want me to do?’

  ‘Ah,’ Aditsan said knowingly. ‘You think perhaps your marriage is ordained in the heavens? That it’s your destiny to be together?’

  ‘Well, maybe it is,’ Halstead replied, feeling foolish.

  ‘Look, you may
be a prince, but the Infinite doesn’t revolve around you. You’re not the center of the universe. Couples break up, happens all the time. Get over it.’

  ‘Get over it?’ Halstead laughed bitterly. ‘She was my wife! I loved her, and she left me. I let her go because of my visions, because of my communion with the Infinite Gods. It means something, it has to!’ he insisted.

  Reader Aditsan said nothing, but Halstead could feel his judgement. He stood once more, determined to leave this time.

  ‘You’re worried because you know you’ll see her soon.’

  Halstead stopped by the door.

  ‘You have a meeting of the Harvest Union, correct?’ Aditsan asked.

  ‘Yes, before the inauguration. She’ll be there, I’m certain.’

  ‘This will be the first time you’ve seen each other since she left?’

  Halstead nodded.

  The Reader stood, his knees cracking. ‘Then this is a good thing.’

  ‘A good thing? I don’t expect her to come back to me. I’ve seen the future, it doesn’t happen.’

  ‘But it’s a chance to talk, to put things to rest. Then, you might be able to start living again.’

  Halstead listened, thinking, then he straightened, preparing to return to his life outside this tiny sanctuary. ‘Thank you, Reader.’

  Aditsan bowed respectfully, then shuffled into the shadows at the edge of the chapel.

  STUDY

  The boy came again the next day, playing by the fountain as Gofal contemplated his work. Otto was a pleasant distraction, asking questions that challenged Gofal’s understanding in ways that only a child could. There was a form of lucid thinking inherent in children which seemed to fade away during maturity. It was a shame, Gofal concluded; the child displayed an ability to grasp abstract concepts in ways Gofal had only seen before in artists or gravel-heads. In a handful of years Otto’s thinking would become rigid, his ideas about life, death, the universe, our purpose in it, would all take on structure, becoming brittle and inflexible. The child had much to lose, while adulthood offered little in return. Gofal, by contrast, did not change, he did not age, and he was glad of it.

  ‘How long are you staying?’ Otto asked, returning to the fountain from one of his sorties into the surrounding passageways.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gofal replied. ‘Until my work is done.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Study. I am here to learn about the origins of the Infinite Gods. As the Church of the Infinite possesses the most comprehensive records on the subject, and Icarus is home to their main archive, it is the best place to conduct my work.’

  ‘I don’t like to study,’ Otto said, losing interest.

  Usually, Gofal enjoyed the quiet discipline of research, but his time on Icarus was proving to be somewhat frustrating. The official records were riddled with errors and inconsistencies, and the further back he went the worse it became. Some facts were irrefutable, like the date of the Fracture: August 13th, 2139 by the old calendar, Year One as it was known now. Two hundred and twenty-three years ago. But other details were missing, or wrong. It was almost as if the information was deliberately misleading. How could he hope to understand his encounter with the Infinite Gods and the information they had given him about the future if he could not decipher the past?

  He reviewed the data stored in his cerebral matrix, data given to him during a dangerous flight through the heart of the Infinite. He and Prince Halstead had communed with the beings known as the Infinite Gods, and each had been given a glimpse of the future. In Gofal’s case, the information was comprehensive, exacting in every detail. He knew what would happen in the next five seconds as clearly as he did the events of next year. He had tested the information until he was satisfied it was genuine, but he had yet to decipher its purpose. Why had he been given this insight? What was he meant to do with it? He had decided that the only way he could find an answer was to learn more about the event known as the Fracture, and about the nature of the Infinite Gods themselves. So far, he was no closer to an answer.

  A woman’s voice echoed round the fountain, calling the boy’s name. Otto looked up, his eyes wide with fear.

  ‘Are you in trouble?’ Gofal asked.

  ‘Always,’ Otto replied with a moan.

  The woman appeared, saw Otto, and marched towards him. She was slender, with a long neck and elegant face, but her stride conveyed strength and purpose. She wore the robes of a Librarian, a member of the Church’s scholarly ranks.

  ‘How many times, Otto?’ the woman scolded.

  ‘I was just here.’

  ‘But I can’t see through walls, Otto.’

  ‘You said you could, at home, when I was hitting Adele.’

  The woman paused, momentarily flustered. ‘That was different. You do not wander off, understand?’

  ‘It’s okay, mother, I was with Gofal,’ Otto said, turning to look up at him.

  The woman smiled politely, trying to hide her frustration. ‘Otto has told me about you. Thank you for watching him.’

  ‘I have enjoyed his company, Librarian Horst.’

  ‘You know me?’

  ‘By reputation only. We’ve not spoken before.’

  Horst blushed, smiling. ‘Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Gofal. I know you by reputation as well.’ She turned to Otto, holding out her hand. ‘C’mon, we need to talk about the rules again.’

  ‘Gofal’s studying,’ Otto said quickly. ‘You could help him.’

  Librarian Horst tried to pull her child away, but her curiosity stopped her. ‘Studying?’ she asked Gofal.

  ‘Yes. I’m researching the Icarus records, looking for information on the Infinite Gods.’

  Horst exhaled, arching her eyebrows. ‘How’s that going for you?’

  ‘I’ve cross-referenced all the available data in the archive here, but there are major inconsistencies and omissions. It is proving harder than I had expected.’

  She nodded sympathetically. ‘People were more concerned with staying alive than with keeping accurate records. Many of the oldest accounts were lost or have yet to be digitized.’

  ‘Digitized?’ Gofal said.

  Otto jumped up and down, pulling at his mother’s arm.

  ‘Stop it!’ she demanded, distracted from her conversation with Gofal.

  ‘Do you mean there are other sources of information?’ Gofal said, keen to get an answer.

  Librarian Horst glanced up from scolding her child. ‘Sorry, he’s not usually so excitable. Yes, we have a physical collection that is still being catalogued and processed. You won’t find those in the main archive, not yet anyway.’

  ‘Can I see them?’

  Horst thought about his request. ‘Well, I don’t see why not. I’m not sure you’ll find what you’re looking for though. Much of it is trivial; cargo manifests, company accounts, diaries, that sort of thing.’

  Gofal stood. ‘They would be very useful. Can you arrange access?’

  ‘All right, I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘I want to go too!’ Otto shouted.

  His mother frowned. ‘Since when have you been interested in Library One?’

  ‘Gofal wants to go. I want to go. We’re friends.’

  Horst laughed, looking at the bot quizzically. ‘Very well, we’ll all go.’

  THE CANARY

  The door buzzed for a third time. It was a distant noise, hardly registering as Orcades Draig meditated. He focused on his breathing, feeling the air fill his chest, tugging at the scars, then he let go, breathing out slowly, keeping his mind clear. It was a technique he’d learned . . . he wasn’t sure where he’d learned it. The confusion broke his focus and he opened his eyes.

  ‘Enter,’ Orcades ordered, still trying to search his memories.

  Commodore Orava stepped into the room, keeping a respectful distance from his Valtais.

  ‘Closer,’ Orcades whispered, ‘so I can see you.’ The lights were a dim orange, their warm glow less painf
ul on his eyes.

  Orava obeyed, standing to attention close to where Orcades sat on the floor. The commodore loomed over him, a giant of a man. His chest was broad, his bulky shoulders pushed back, his muscular arms tight to his sides. His dark hair framed his ghost-like face, an expression of concern hiding there behind his fixed mask of rank and duty.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Orcades said, remaining seated.

  ‘Valtais, I am well, thank you . . .’

  ‘But?’

  The commodore hesitated. ‘I must speak to you . . . about the war.’

  ‘The civil war.’

  Orava looked down at him. ‘Yes.’

  Was it shame Orcades saw on his commodore’s face? Orava was a good man, loyal and steadfast, and it was obvious that the months since Orcades was declared dead had taken its toll on him.

  Orcades stood and gestured to a pair of chairs and a low table positioned by the entrance. Orava turned towards them, waiting for his Valtais to sit before he allowed himself to rest. ‘Tell me everything,’ Orcades said. ‘Leave nothing out.’

  ‘There are three main factions at war with each other since your . . . disappearance. We command four arkships and are the largest splinter. The other two are equally matched with two arkships apiece, plus support craft.’

  ‘Eight arkships? What of the others in my fleet?’

  ‘We do not know, Valtais. After the battle at Carter & Grey, the fleet disbanded. We have not heard from some of them since the fighting began.’

  Orcades sighed. It was hard to imagine his people fighting amongst themselves in a drawn-out civil war. Had he been such a weak leader? This was supposed to be a golden age for the House of Draig. Under his rule, they would expand and prosper. Instead, they had fallen apart, and Orcades was to blame.

  No, not him.

  It was the old Orcades’ fault, the gravel-headed paranoid who had been cleansed in the fires of destruction. He had died that day, reborn out of the ashes of his burning arkship, healed by strangers and returned to his people, given a second chance at glory. Yes, it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t that man, not any more. His hands were clean, and he could heal the wounds of the past. He poured himself a glass of water and sipped at it as he thought. ‘Now I am returned, the fighting will end. You’ve sent the message?’